


Your Heart, My Heart

by PhenixFleur



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Assuming everyone is okay with Loki living in the tower for some reason, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, FrostIron - Freeform, I do that a lot, I kinda hand-waved that, M/M, Somewhat, Tony Stark Has A Heart, it doesn't matter, shameless fluff, two of them actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6567982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenixFleur/pseuds/PhenixFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki and Tony have a heart to heart about Tony's arc reactor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Heart, My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> ...I cannot believe I made that joke. 
> 
> Anyway. I wrote this one a couple of years ago when I was pretty heavily into the Avengers fandom/Frostiron was my jam and I never posted it for some reason. Established relationship, takes place in some AU setting where everyone lives in Stark Tower together and that includes Loki's smug ass. Also this is sappy, because I am a sap.

Loki is fascinated by the arc reactor.

Not just scientific reverence - Tony tries to explain the technology to him several times before giving up for the time being, because whereas Loki is far more technologically inclined than his brother he still doesn’t have the background needed to fully grasp Tony’s brand of magic, just as his remains just out of the inventor’s reach. They hail from two different worlds (in more ways than the obvious), and while Tony’s sure that a collaboration of their talents would be devastating neither of them is yet capable of communicating the intricacies of their respective arts effectively. Loki is too impatient to teach, and Tony’s brand of instruction involves jumping from Level 1 to Level 20 in the span of two minutes.

Regardless, the demigod seems to think of the little device as magic itself, not an improvement in design sparking from one model worked up out of desperation. The night Tony finally tells him about Afghanistan, about his rebirth, after a fashion, there are no interruptions, no sneers or scoffs or any interjections regarding his intelligence. Loki sits watching him intently, eyes trained on the gently glowing circle beneath his shirt, and listens with rapt attention. The early winter stars above their heads (because they’re seated on the deck watching the eternal luminous pulse of New York sprawling around them, and even though he’s freezing beneath his thin shirt and pants Tony keeps it to himself) are drowned out by light pollution; Tony’s voice trails off into nothingness, the curls of steam preceding his words in the chilly air following on its heels. A comfortable silence fills the air between them for a moment before Loki speaks, in a softer, more reverent tone than Tony is used to: “May I?”

It’s so strange, the request for permission (delivered with a sort of halting affection) in a fledgling relationship rife with arguments and needling and getting in each other’s faces and rage-induced heavy petting among the ashes left behind; so much that Tony doesn’t deny it as usual. “Be careful,” he warns with an edge to his tone that he’s incapable of suppressing.

“But of course,” the reply is smooth, slender fingers curling around the hem of his AC/DC T-shirt gently. “It is your heart.”

This is not exactly accurate, but the fondness with which the words are spoken halts Tony’s correction. There’s an unnerving intimacy to the moment, and it makes him uncomfortable because thus far they’ve managed to avoid what the demigod refers to as _sentiment_ , with the characteristic sneer twisting his lips and derision in his voice. _Sentiment_ is for couples, lovers, people in a committed relationship not based on snark, sex, and violence, and given that there are quite a few days when Tony would like nothing more than to shoot Loki just to wipe the smug ass smirk off of his stupid face he’s pretty sure none of those words apply to whatever they are.

So it is with more than a hint of apprehension that he allows the demigod to lift his shirt, exposing the brilliant gleam of his arc reactor, bathing Loki’s face in pale blue light. A very small (actually considerably larger than he’d like to admit) part of it is pure vanity. There are small scars there, obviously, framing the skin surrounding the compartment in his chest; he’s used to looking at it himself without cringing, because from the biased standpoint of a technophile it’s pretty cool, but it’s still a gaping hole in his chest subject to infection and the frailty of human flesh and perhaps it isn’t so much vanity but recognization of the fact that the blue ring of light set in his chest is one more component of a wound that will never fully heal. And it’s part of him, now. The ring of light, and the corruption it holds at bay.

Introspection is not meant to be done sober, nor is it meant to be carried out while half-dressed and shivering on a deck in the middle of New York City with an Asgardian demigod’s hands roaming over one’s chest, so Tony puts a stop to that and focuses instead on Loki’s face, which is set in a pensive, contemplative expression he’s seen before on occasion, but not often. His hands hover restlessly above the arc reactor, as if he’s performing some kind of spell; the thought rattles Tony enough that he nearly yanks his shirt free before the quiet, unnervingly patient _what the fuck is up with him right now_   “Relax” Loki admonishes him with brings him back from the edge.

_Relaxing_ is a pretty tall order with his Off switch exposed to the world and under curious scrutiny by an ex-enemy whose very nature contradicts the concept of trust (although if Tony’s honest with himself he’s come to trust that Loki isn’t going to just go supervillain on him again without warning, when did that happen, he’s not entirely sure, and _wow that’s a bad idea_ ). Before he can point this out, Loki speaks again, halting his apprehension in its tracks. “Were I intending to harm you or end your life, you’ve given me more than ample opportunity to do so. Nor would I choose to do so in such a cowardly manner.”

“You asshole, you’d make me fight for it. Probably destroy half the tower in the process.”

“Is your life not worth fighting for?” Loki counters, looking meaningfully at the arc reactor, but he’s _smiling_ so the tension dissolves a bit. _Smiling_.

Something important is happening, or rather it’s trying its damnedest to and Tony is being a stubborn, suspicious ass (not that he isn’t perfectly justified in doing so), but there’s a somewhat foreign gentleness to the demigod’s actions, something graceful and dare he say it,  _loving_ as his fingertips finally press themselves against the brightly glowing surface of the device, and it manages to keep him from reflexively surging upward and knocking Loki’s hand away. He can’t physically feel them lightly brushing against the arc reactor, given that it is a machine however much a part of him it might be, and perhaps that is for the best as the demigod begins to move his fingertips in what he hopes are meaningless patterns, straying towards its edges and stopping just before meeting the ring of raised scars circling it. He wants to ask Loki what the hell he’s doing, but the words won’t form correctly; he’s far too transfixed by whatever is happening between them, some invisible barrier finally crumbling.  The demigod stretches his hand out over the arc reactor’s surface ( _oh God he’s going to yank it out, just snatch it right out and leave me up here_ ) and keeps it there for a few minutes, looking up at him with his sharp green eyes while that initial panic gradually fades away, leaving Tony with a very different grade of fear: of how much it would hurt for Loki to pull his hand away now that he’s, quite literally and figuratively, touched his heart and stealthily wormed his way into it.

It’s that thought that compels him to, as the demigod begins to draw back, place his hand atop Loki’s, halting his withdrawal; he isn’t aware of the fact that there must be some kind of distress on his face until Loki’s other hand rests itself against his cheek - what the hell he’s still smiling well just shit this is happening, isn’t it - resting against stubble he should have taken care of days ago.

“You needn’t worry, Stark. I do not intend to break your heart.” He doesn’t specify _which_ one he’s referring to, but it doesn’t matter all that much - one can’t exist without the other, they’re intertwined with each other at this point, and he guesses the same applies to himself and the former enemy that’s now become a nearly inextricable part of his life, as well.

They’ll go back to arguing pretty soon; Tony will call Loki an asshole and Loki will respond with a variety of rather creative insults regarding humanity itself, and there will be magic and things will get destroyed while everyone else in the tower goes about their business because they’re so used to this shit by now. But for now they’re both content to stay as they are, quietly affirming the fact that they are indeed, regardless of the discord interwoven into their relationship, linked at the heart.


End file.
